


Halloween 1: The Origin of Michael Myers

by Moodrum63



Category: Halloween - Fandom, Michael Myers - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Halloween, Halloween movies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:42:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27128737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moodrum63/pseuds/Moodrum63
Summary: There is more to Michael Myers than the six year old who murdered his sister.  There is his birth ... and even a time before, and there is the brief in-between years before that fateful night that HE came home.
Kudos: 3





	1. 1957

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prequel to the original "Halloween" movie by John Carpenter. It ends before the main events in the movie, when Michael Myers comes home to Haddenfield. That treatment will be covered in my "Halloween 2: The Night HE Came Home".

Michael Myers was born at 6:06 pm on October 31, 1957 in the small, quiet town of Haddenfield, Illinois. He was not given a middle name by his parents, George and Nancy Myers. It never even crossed their minds to do so.

He wasn't their first child. That was Judith, age 11. Even for the first child born to Nancy, her birth was not as difficult, as ... traumatic ... as Michael's birth. Nancy felt as if her soul was being ripped apart as well as her body. It was a joyless birth for both the Myers. There was a sense about it apart from the obvious physical trail. When Michael was finally born ... he never cried. He never cried once. It was unnerving, and after the doctor and nurses satisfied themselves that there was nothing wrong with the baby, it made them uneasy to be around him.

Perhaps it was his eyes. From the moment he was born, Michael was able to keep his eyes wide open and would stare at whoever held him or stood by his crib. He stared right through you ... into your soul. When the nurse first handed him off to his mother, Nancy smiled at him and was ready for the joy of the birth to finally hit her, but she looked into his blank, staring eyes, and shook with a chill.

George would only look at him from a distance and dreaded those eyes upon him. They were both confused by their feelings and never spoke about it until Michael was three years old.

They took Michael home and showed him to his older sister, and Judith instantly hated the baby. Early in the pregnancy, she was excited to be receiving a baby brother, but as the months drew on, she grew to dislike the idea of his coming into her home and family. Now that he was here - with those dark, cold, emotionless starring eyes ... she hated him. She was only a child, but her feelings were tuned to a truth she could not maturely understand or intellectually explain.

So Michael entered into the Myers family, never, ever crying or complaining as he grew older. When hurt, he would simply cock him head to one side and stare at his own wound. He was quietly an obedient child, minding his father and mother, and even his older sister, who he knew hated him. He didn't care. He felt nothing toward her. He felt nothing for any of them.

He felt nothing at all.


	2. 1963

_Black cats and goblins and broomsticks and ghosts._

_Covens of witches with all of their hosts._

_You may think they scare me; you're probably right._

_Black cats and goblins on Halloween night._

_Trick or treat!_

Michael could hear their refrain echo throughout the neighborhood. He had broken away from the group he was trick-or-treating with, as well as the few adults supervising them. They would not miss him. He was so quiet ... so removed, as if he was never there at all. The time for fun was over, not that Michael had any interest in acquiring candies or dressing up ... although he did like the idea of a mask covering his face. It made him someone else. It gave him an identity that his own face could not. But there was nothing special about this mask ... this thin plastic caricature of some red-hair, red-nose, white-faced clown. It was juvenile even for him, a six year old. If only the mask was right - if it was the perfect fit, nor for his face, but for the inner being that was him. _If only it were perfect ..._

Somewhere along the way, he even let go of his bag of sweets. The time for fun was over. There was something he needed to do. Tonight was the night. He was at the age to do it. Six years old. Something inside him told him all this. He was going home to do it.

He knew she wouldn't be alone. Judith. His older sister. 17 years old. She had a boyfriend, but even Michael knew at his tender age that he was only using her to get to her body. He knew and understood things that a six year old should not know. But this wasn't why she had to die. He didn't, at this time, know why she had to die, but that voice inside him said she must, and that he had to do it. Tonight was the night. He was at the right age to do it.

He peered in through the window to the right of the house and saw them kissing and groping on the living room couch. He would have to wait. He know how to wait.

He walked to the back of the house and entered in through the back door into the kitchen. He opened a drawer and pulled out a long butcher knife. It fit right in his small hand. It fit right in.

He walked through the connecting hallway into the living room and stood right behind the boyfriend. They didn't see him nor hear him. No one ever heard or saw him if he didn't wish it so. The knife was by his side as he watched them, looking at the boyfriend's back, then he turned and exited back out the kitchen door and disappeared into the hedges along the house. He stood there, looking out to the front porch, and waited. He know how to wait.

He could "hear" them talking, and then walking up the stairs to Judith's bedroom. He looked up and saw the bedroom light go out. He waited.

After a short while the boyfriend came out the front door with a smirk on his face that showed his true nature and intentions. He deserved to die. _Why not him?_ But not him, urged the voice. Only Judith.

Michael moved toward the front door and entered the house. He climbed the stairs. He could "feel" her in the bedroom. He reached the landing and stood in Judith's open doorway. She sat naked in front of her vanity mirror, brushing her hair, when she saw Michael in the mirror's reflection. She turned and questioned him, trying to cover her breasts with her arms. Then she saw the knife by his side.

She cried out to him as he moved toward her, raising the knife into the air. She cried out to the night as he stabbed her one, two, three, four, five ... six times. _Six._ He was the right age. It was the right number.


	3. Sin of the Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> State College somewhere in Illinois, 1941. More about George Myers, the future father of Michael ... and a very mysterious young woman named Raven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The longest chapter so far. It just demanded it.

George Myers was a bit of a hell-raiser back in college, even by 1941 standards. He wasn't yet dating Nancy Woolfson, who wasn't in college, but back home in Haddonfield, Illinois, while George was at State College. George was studying economics ... and girls. One of those girls was a Sophomore like George. She was studying art and literature. Her name was - or so she insisted - Raven Helcroft. And she was well named.

Raven had one class with George and she sized him up quickly. He was wild and hungry and curious about sex. He thought she was the same, but the things George didn't know would have chilled his bones, and ended his curiosity.

At a time when very few girls attended college, Raven's family was one of means. She had no real academic desires, but loved art and books, and all things ... dark. She came on to George before he had even worked up the courage or an approach, and it took him a little by surprise. Girls ... that is, good girls, just didn't behave the way Raven did. George knew he was going to "get lucky" wit Raven at that very moment. Or he thought "lucky".

Raven worked up a date with George for that October, but nothing conventional; not for Raven. She wanted George to meet her on a clear hilltop just a couple of miles from college. George didn't know the place, but Raven had drawn him a map. She wanted him to show up at 11:30 PM or some minutes after ... but not one minute before. She would be waiting for him. She would provide everything; a blanket and what she called a midnight basket. They would have cheese and meats with bread and red wine, and sit on the blanket overlooking the valley under a near full moon - a _waxing gibbous_. They would meet on All Hallows Eve.

"On Halloween, you mean?" asked George with a strange expression. Raven laughed.

"How quaint," she sang, and she ran her hand down the inside of his pant leg. She knew that George would show up, no matter how spooky the idea or even if it smacked of ... the satanic. She made her point perfectly clear that she was going to have sex with him on that night, and he would show up. George knew this, too, and he couldn't believe how easy it was going to be for him. Still, her laugh. It was ... disconcerting.

When the night came, George had walked the two-plus miles to the bottom of the hill on the map. He didn't have a car. All he had was a borrowed flashlight, but the near-full moon - that _Waxing Gibbous_ moon - provided all the light he needed for the walk. He stood at the foot of the hill and looked upward, but could not see Raven from his vantage point, so he began his ascent. As he neared the top, he could hear Raven before he could see her ... _but who was she talking to? What kind of game was she playing? Was someone with her?_ He stopped and listened, but could not discern the words. He would find out exactly what was going on!

As he cleared the top, he saw her. Bathed in the clear moonlight he saw a large blanket on the ground and Raven near the basket she had brought, but she was putting stuff inside - not taking things out. And there was no other person present! _So who was she talking to?_

"Hey ... Raven!" George called loudly, as if to catch her off-guard, perhaps to see what she was doing, or if she would be startled. To his amazement, she turned without any concern, looked at him sternly, and peered at her wrist watch. Her hair was long and blowing in the midnight breeze, and she was wearing a long, black dress. If not for the near full moon, she would have been one with the darkness of the night.

"You're right on time, aren't you? If you had been early, I would have been very upset." George was taken by her brashness. He was the man. He was supposed to take her. He was supposed to be in control.

Raven stood and smiled. "Eager, are you?" George decided to "man-up" his game and swaggered toward her.

"What did you put in the basket?" Raven's countenance shifted. She was in charge, whether George realized it or not.

"Perhaps you were early. How long were you standing there watching me?" George stood inches from her and touched her arm. He thought he was in charge.

"I just walked straight on up, is all. I saw you putting stuff in the basket. Where's the food and wine?"

"Still in the basket. I'll get it now."

"I'll help," added George, and Raven stiff-armed him in place and stared into his eyes.

"I'll do it, George. Why don't you get comfortable on the blanket. Take off your jacket ... your shoes. Lie down."

Raven crossed to the basket, but George did not do as he was told, specifically because he was told to do so. Instead, he stood and watched her, and Raven knew it. Then George glanced at the blanket and saw a dark book there. He reached down and brought it up into the moonlight so he could see it better. He read the title aloud.

"Witchcraft ... and the Dark Arts!" Raven jumped from the basket and spun to a perfect point. She was rigid and furious, and as she stared at George, her entire body shook with rage.

"Give me that book! It's mine! How _DARE_ you touch it!"

George was shaken to his core. _What in hell had he gotten himself into?_ " _Gees_ , Raven! What is this horse-shit! Are you actually reading this stuff?"

Raven marched over to him, grabbed the book and pulled it to her bosom as if protecting her most treasured possession. "You may as well know then, George. You may as very well know right here and now." She took the book and put it in the basket. George could see a bottle of wine, a half-loaf of bread, but he saw a couple of long, black candles and other objects that he could not discern. Raven closed the lid on the basket, stood and turned toward George, reaching her hands behind her and began to unzip her long, black dress.

"If you want to make love to me, George, then it must be on my terms." She started walking toward him. Her arms returned to her side as her dress slipped from her shoulders and fell ghostly to the grass. She was wearing nothing underneath, prepared from the start to have sex on the blanket beneath the Waxing Gibbous moon.

"I want a child ... a son. You will give him to me." She could see George's stark unbelief in his eyes. "You need not worry. I release you from all responsibility. You will have your night of pleasure and I will have a son." She was now upon George and raking him to herself with her passionate hands. She groped him. She lightly licked his lips with her tongue. She rubbed his crotch and wetly kissed his neck. And he wanted her.

"Do what you want, George. Take me now. Give me all of you." She unbuttoned his pants and then unzipped them, and soon her mouth was on the main object of her interest. 

George was young; an adolescent going into manhood. Up till now, his conquests were mostly successful flirtations, passionate kissing and only on one occasion, groping - and he did the groping; not the girl. This advance by Raven was not within his power to resist.

They fell to the blanket, George on top of Raven while they both worked on remove his shirt and shoes. George's socks would have to remain as Raven wrapped her long legs around the enfevered young man. George could feel himself growing hard and full, and just as he prepared to thrust himself into her moist vagina ... she stopped him, for now she knew she had him where she wanted him.

"Wait, George! First you must swear something!" George's face crumpled in confusion as he stared into her face.

" _What?_ I got to do _what?_ "

"Swear, George! Swear that you of your own free will bequeath your first born son to Satan!"

George shook his head. _What had he gotten himself into?_

" _What the hell_ ... What are you saying, Raven?"

"Swear it, George! It's so easy! Swear that you will do it!" And Raven thrusted her crotch into George's stiff penis. George was throbbing!

"Yeah! Yeah ... okay! I fucking swear it!"

"No! Say it, George! You must say it aloud! Say _I bequeath my first born son to Satan!_ " She deliberately thrust her vagina around the tip of his penis.

" _I ... bequeath_ ... shit!"

"Finish it!" She thrusted again. He was nearly fully within her.

"You know - _my first born son to Satan!_ Damn it, Raven!"

"Yes, George!" She engulfed him. "Yes!" She thrusted again. "Now I will take your seed!" and Raven pumped and pumped herself over George's member, even though she was on the bottom; even though he was supposed to take her - to pump her! And as Raven would emit short cries of ecstasy and George could feel himself growing closer and closer to orgasm, he did not want this. He felt sick to his stomach, and he hated himself. But - _**OH!**_ \- he was so close! Nearly there! And then he released himself, and he quivered all over. It was an incredible feeling ... but - _oh!_ This wasn't what he wanted, and he slumped limp into Raven's breasts and fought back the urge to cry.

Raven smiled and hugged him close. She didn't orgasm and cared nothing about that. She had what she wanted: the seed of a willing man to give her a son for Satan. Raven smiled.

* * * * *

October and Halloween 1941 came and went. It was now the spring of 1942. George was outside the main college building on the grounds with two other Junior boys. They were talking about the coming semester ... when Raven came marching across the campus making a beeline toward George.

George had not seen her since that Halloween night, and did not want to see her ever again. True to her word, Raven stayed out of George's life. They rarely saw each other on campus, but now she was back. And furious.

One of the boys with George saw Raven first and instantly noticed her dark demeanor. He rapped George on the arm a couple of times because he knew that George was the obvious target for the dark-haired girl. George turned and saw Raven ... and his heart chilled. She marched up to him - right up to his face - and quickly gave him a jarring slap! All three boys were frozen in shock. There was just a moment's pause as Raven starred death into George's eyes.

"You failed me, George! I am not impregnated! I don't have a son growing in my womb! You are nothing but a worthless boy!" Another moment's pause, and Raven turned sharply on her heels and stormed away.

The two boys with George began to chattered in amazement and bewilderment, but it was all a tin echo in George's ears as he stared at Raven walking away. Oddly enough, a rush of relief washed over George, for at least not only now was Raven out of his life completely, but he didn't have to worry - and it haunted his mind since that Halloween night - about having a child somewhere in the world. He rubbed his hurting cheek and welcomed the news that Raven had given him ... _but still_ ...

George had swore to give his first born son to Satan.


	4. Smith's Grove Sanitarium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to 1963 and 6 year Michael in the care of Smith's Grove Sanitarium. Enter Dr. Sam Loomis.

When 44 year old psychiatrist Dr. Sam Loomis first approached 6 year old Michael Myers, it was in a white, sterile private patient room. As Dr. Loomis knocked and then opened the door, he spoke softly and peacefully. "Hello, Michael. I'm Dr. Loomis." Michael was sitting in a plain wooden chair facing the only window in his room looking out onto the facility grounds of Smith's Grove Sanitarium. He did not answer the psychiatrist, as Loomis was told he would not. Loomis could not see the young boy's face and could not understand the staff's uneasiness concerning him. He was just a child who, for some yet unknown reason, stabbed his older sister to death with a kitchen knife.

"Mind if I sit next to you?" Loomis waited. No reply. The doctor slowly walked over to the only other similar chair in the room at a small, round table and moved it to about four feet from Michael, positioning it to see Michael's profile. Now Dr. Loomis was seeing the face of Michael Myers for the first time. There was a set hardness in it as the blonde haired boy stared out the window, but Loomis noticed, with quite certainly, that Michael wasn't staring at anything particular out the window, but staring out into something unseen ... something in his mind ... something in the future.

Dr. Loomis chilled. He understood the staff's uneasiness. He knew he must be on his guard and being to never underestimate his young patient. At least until he could get past those staring eyes into Michael's mind.

"Michael, I want you to understand that I'm here to listen to you. You can tell me anything and I promise you it will stay just between you and I." No reply. Perhaps Loomis could jar him.

"I was hoping you might tell me about Judith." No movement. Loomis deliberately brought up the sister and even mentioned her by name, but no response came from Michael. The doctor would try to strike a chord again.

"Did she hurt you somehow, Michael?" Nothing.

"Did you see her doing something that you thought was bad?" Stillness.

"She's dead, Michael. You killed her with a butcher knife. She's dead." Michael did nothing in response. Loomis was even beginning to notice that the boy had not blinked the whole time he had been looking at him. Not even an eye blink.

Loomis sighed outward and relaxed against the back of his chair. _Who was this young boy? What was going on inside him? Why was he so angry?_

Then Loomis continued to study Michael. No, this young boy wasn't angry. His face was hard-set, that was true, and his eyes steely cold, but he wasn't angry. Somehow Loomis knew this. This was something more; something that Loomis had never seen in his career.

Michael wasn't angry. He just _was._


	5. Myers Review Board

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1971.

It was 8 years later. Michael Myers was turning 14 years old today. Halloween.

Loomis sat in a large, hollow-appearing meeting room were rows and rows of half-circle, orange tables faced one long address table with two staff doctors from Smith's Grove behind it. Loomis sat three rows back, almost dead center, and listened as they delivered their final assessment of Michael Myers.

"Reading from the decision by Judge Walter Ward," stated the elder doctor of the two men. "It is my decision to remand Michael Myers to the Smith's Grove Sanitarium were he should be placed in the care of a resident psychiatrist who shall report to this court no less than twice a year." Loomis rubbed his face with his hand while holding his hat.

"Further, Michael Myers shall be brought before this court at the age of 21 to stand trial as an adult for the murder of his sister, Judith Margaret Myers." The elder doctor closed the folder he was reading from and there was silence in the huge room. "Dr. Loomis?" the elder doctor called in request of Loomis' response, a response he knew was forthcoming.

Loomis stood and faced the two doctors. He appeared meek and humble, but was actually tired and deflated. "Michael Myers must be removed from Smith's Grove as soon as possible. He is quickly growing into a full-bodied teenaged boy. Smith's Grove is a minimum security facility. You won't be able to hold him here as he grows to full adulthood. I would suggest moving him to Lynchfield Maximum Security Sanitarium."

The younger doctor spoke up. "Dr. Loomis, the decision has been made. We are not asking for your recommendation. We are simply informing you of the court's decision and that you will no longer be in charge of Michael's treatment." The young doctor shifted in his chair, preparing himself to further address this man who he personally disliked.

"It is no secret, Dr. Loomis, that you have openly said to staff members here at Smith's Grove that you consider Michael to be _evil!_ _Evil_ , doctor! Do you really think such a term fit for a professional, educated man as yourself, to classify someone as _evil_ instead of using a proper, clinical term?"

Loomis felt defeated. How could he expect these men to believe in something that he himself would have denied eight years ago. Before he met Michael Myers. Before he became a believer in _something other_ in the world.

"Please ... all I'm saying is the staff here isn't adequately prepared."

"Prepared for what?" came the frustrated elder doctor. "The boy is a catatonic! He exhibits comatose behavior! No response to external stimuli! My God - he hasn't spoken a word - not one, single word - in eight years! There is nothing to prepare for!"

Loomis was failing. He wasn't going to be able to convince them. "Michael Myers is the most dangerous patient I have ever observed!"

The younger doctor responded. "There is no external evidence to back up that statement at all! What is your reason of believing that?" Loomis knew he could not win now. _What was his evidence?_ _How do you prove evil by sensing it in your soul?_

"I have no evidence," Loomis counted with downcast eyes and shoulders. In embarrassment he stood there for a few moments more. In embarrassment for him, the two doctors could only shift their eyes away and wait for him to leave. Without placing his hat on his head, Loomis turned and meekly shifted his way out of the curved seating area and exited.

Once in the hallway, he walked until he came upon Michael's private room. He paused outside - as if he could fell the Michael already knew everything that had just happened - and then opened the door and stepped inside. No security at all.

He stood within the doorway, closing the door behind him with his hat in his hands and stared over to the window. Just as on that first day eight years ago, a now 14 year old Michael Myers sat in his same wooden chair staring out of the window into something - somewhere - unseen. He was already an imposing figure of a young man.

"What are you waiting for, Michael?" asked Loomis whose voice was as soothing as it was troubled. "I know you are on pause ... _but why?_ When will you awaken? And what will you do then?"

No answer. No movement. Nothing at all.

"You've fooled them, haven't you, Michael?"

No response.

Outside, it was Halloween.


	6. Escape from Insanity

It is less than 150 miles between Smith's Grove Sanitarium and Haddonfield, Illinois. A seemingly safe enough distance between Michael Myers and his hometown. George and Nancy Myers moved out of Haddonfield before the winter got bad in 1964. Their house never sold. They didn't care. They moved to New Jersey as soon as George could get transferred in his job and they could find a house. They even left behind any furniture that was too painful to ever see again, such as every single article in both Judith's and Michael's bedroom. They took only the bare essentials that they needed to relocate and start all over again. They even abandoned Michael to Smith's Grove. They saw him only a few times before they left, and never looked back on him again.

Now it was 6:13 PM on the day before Halloween inside Smith's Grove Sanitarium. It was dinner time, or at least that was the time when orderly Mark Mitchum lightly knocked on Michael's door before opening it and stepping in with the tray. Michael Myers was a full grown, strapping man now. He sat, as always, in his chair by the window, looking out into the darkness. Orderly Mitchum was confused because by now Michael would have moved to the chair at his small, round table waiting for dinner. He was like a clock - even more reliable than a clock; you could know the time by anything that Michael did, but this evening - the evening before he would turn 21 - he was still sitting by the window.

"Hey - Michael, man! Time to eat!" Orderly Mitchum crossed to the table to set the tray down as Michael stiffly rose from his chair and silently walked toward him. "I'd say it's your favorite, but I don't think you got a favorite, Mike." The orderly removed the lid from the tray and sat the metal utensils to the side - a spoon, a fork ... and a knife. Metal silverwear in a sanitarium. No security at all.

"That's why I like you, Mike. You don't complain or say anything _EVER!_ " The orderly was slightly bent over the meal as he was finishing preparing it, when Michael grabbed the back of his head in the vice-like grip of his left hand. It was so sudden and so full of force, that the orderly could only bulge his eyes and think his exclamation. Then in one impossibly fast motion, Michael slammed his face into the food and pinned him there. Then taking the knife ... _(the knife)_ ... he skewered the orderly's neck to the table. The young man fell limp on the edge, his arms dangling down lifelessly.

 **The Second Victim.** Orderly Mark Mitchum died only for the convenience of means of escape. Michael didn't desire to kill him like he did his sister, Judith, the First Victim. Orderly Mitchum didn't have to die. He wasn't the _One_.

As Michael stepped out of his room - the first time he had EVER done so of his free will - he walked down the hallway toward the other patient rooms. The only time any patient room was locked was if a patient was greatly disturbed and had to be under observation for a time. This evening, not a single door was locked. Michael slowly swung open each door, to the patient's puzzlement. Cautiously, each patient peered out their doorway and up and down the hall, and then started to leave their room, which was strictly forbidden. As Michael continued to walk a jagged line left-to-right, door-to-door, the mentally disturbed patients wandered freely throughout the hall like giddy children.

But Michael knew he could not have anyone in authority getting in his way, perhaps calling for the police. Whoever was onsite would have to die. Not because Michael needed to kill. Not them. They weren't the _One_.

 **The Third Victim.** Orderly Charlie Zannick was in the only other hallway serving dinner trays when Michael grabbed him by the throat as he exited a patient room. He lifted him through the air, his feet kicking and his hands wrapped around Michael's one, single hand, when Michael banged his head against the wall one ... two ... three times. The first blow stunned Charlie. The second blow killed him. The third blow broke his skull open and embedded his head into the wall. He just hung there.

 **The Second Survivor.** Nurse Kris Fugate was at the front desk, the only nurse to be on duty until 8 AM. When she heard the loud _thump-thump-thump_ noise that was Charlie's head against the wall, she rose with much concern. She knew the sound was coming from Charlie's hallway and called out his name. When he didn't answer, Kris walked timidly around the corner and almost instantly saw Charlie hanging down from his bloody head in the wall. All the patients were out of their rooms and wandering the hall in great turmoil. Nurse Fugate screamed. She screamed so loud, dizziness shot through her head and she stumbled and almost tripped on her run back to her desk.

When she got there, the phone was ripped from the wall socket and sitting in her chair. Someone had done this just within the few seconds she was away from her desk! She was nearly blind with hysteria. She turned the corner of the other hallway where Mark was supposed to be handing out trays, but the trotting patients were everywhere and growing anxious. There were two other phones in the building, but if someone could rip out one and set it in her chair like some kind or warning, then Nurse Fugate wasn't hanging around.

She fled out the front door into the dark early night, fumbled her way into her car and drove away. All the while, Michael watched her from the shadow of a tree. Nurse Fugate did not need to die, just like his sister's boyfriend of 14 years ago didn't need to die. They could be allowed to go off into the night. They posed no interest and did not need to die. They weren't the _One_.

 **The Fourth Victim.** Custodian Rossy Martin was 59 years old. He loved his job and had no intention of retiring. But he could cause problems for Michael, so he had to die. At this time of evening, Rossy would have already been home and on-call if the facility needed him during the night. Now he was in the shed putting tools away before going home. As Michael walked in through the door behind Rossy's back, as silent as a breeze, Rossy Martin would never make it home. 

Michael knew he could kill Rossy in so many ways ... but he liked things in his hands. Most of Rossy's tools were hand tools - a wrench, some screwdrivers, a drill and the simplest and most commonly needed of all tools ... a hammer.

Without even looking for one, Michael reached out to a nearby table, never taking his eyes off Rossy's head, and had the hammer in his hand. There was a soft noise - a deliberate noise - as the hammer left the table, and Rossy jerked his head upright in wonder. He turned around, and Michael's mighty right arm was already cocked in mid-air. The hammer flung down into Rossy's forehead and embedded itself there. The older man shook all over as his body actually jolted into a rigid state, then the 59 year old custodian fell to the floor.

Headed toward Smith's Grove Sanitarium in a bleached yellow station wagon was Dr. Samuel Loomis and Nurse Margaret Rosetta. Nurse Rosetta was driving while Loomis sat pensively in the passenger seat. They were on their way to pick up Michael Myers for his trip to Warren County District Court for his trial of the murder of his sister, Judith Myers. The date was set for Wednesday, November 1 because Michael would turn 21 on Tuesday, October 31. Halloween.

In the uncomfortable silence of the station wagon, Nurse Rosetta lighted a cigarette. "So you're serious. You never want him to get out."

"Never!" quickly replied Loomis, then he controlled his anxiety. "Never." More awkward silence.

"What do I give him when we take him before the judge?"

"100 milligrams of Thorazine." Nurse Rosetta sneered.

"He won't be able to sit up!"

"That's the idea," came back Loomis calmly, then he saw it in the wagon's headlights. Dozens of inmates in long, white flowing gowns walking in the road and on the grounds of the sanitarium. Dr. Loomis' blood ran cold. His worst nightmare was now actually happening.

"Since when do they let them roam around at night?" asked Nurse Rosetta.

"Shut up! Pull over! Here - now!"

The nurse complied and Loomis jumped out of the wagon. He knew exactly where the outside pay phone was located and instinctively knew going inside the facility was useless. It was, in fact, this pay phone that Nurse Fugate, in her fright, had completely forgotten about. In fact, had she remembered and tried to use it, Michael would have killed her. He was waiting for her in the shadow of the nearby tree and would have strangled her with the long, metal phone cord. Her panic and forgetfulness saved her life.

Nurse Rosetta watched Loomis nervously take the phone in his hand and fumble in his pant pockets for loose change. She crooked her lips and shook her head at him. She thought he was a joke and getting too old to practice and should retire. His thoughts were continuously of Michael Myers.

While she thought these things, the station wagon suddenly lurched as if something had taken the large vehicle in hand and thrown itself onto the roof! Rosetta dropped her cigarette, and she grabbed the steering wheel with both hands as if she could steady whatever was happening. She moved her head to-and-fro but did not notice the giant hand creeping down by the passenger window. When the massive hand smacked the window and shattered it, Nurse Rosetta screamed for her life and bolted from the wagon.

From Loomis' point-of-view, he could see it. See "It". "Him". Michael Myers sliding across the roof of the station wagon and down into the driver's seat as Nurse Rosetta was already halfway to Loomis. The car was still running, so all Michael had to do was put it in gear, back up and drive away. He had never driven a vehicle in his life.

"No!" screamed Loomis as he shoved the nurse away from him into the light of the pay phone and ran to the place the car had been sitting, as if any of this could possibly stop what had just happened. Loomis stood there shaking in his long, tan trench coat; his balding head perspiring with nervous sweat.

"He's gone! He's gone from here! The Evil is gone!"

Far, far off in the distance, blood red tail lights disappeared into the night, heading for Haddonfield. 

Headed for Halloween.

TO BE CONTINUED ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming some time in the near future ... Halloween 2: The Night HE Came Home.


End file.
